


The City That Doesn't Sleep

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, How I Met Your Mother
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2091750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP - Barney Stinson and Harold Saxon hit it off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The City That Doesn't Sleep

“Suit off!”

“Oh, you had to say it, didn’t you?”

The Master smirked, lying back luxuriously on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head and his shoes rested smartly at the foot. New York, New York… What was it the song said? The city that never sleeps? Well, that much was true, but the Master had never expected to find a human with so much energy. He’d never had any great love of the United States, and was certainly pushing his luck when the whole country remembered how he’d assassinated their President, but he loved to live on the wild side, and escaping from the Naismith Manor he’d had to get as far away from the United Kingdom as possible. Where better to go than the continent at constant rivalry with the other, the English-speaking polar opposite? If you said that the Brits were a humble lot, prostrating themselves to each other and refusing to blow their own trumpets, then the Americans did exactly the opposite, and made it clear who they were, where they were, and how well they did what they did. Barney Stinson was one of those people, and the Master hadn’t been able to help himself but call him on his promises.

\---

The man had made it very clear, at the Master’s first approach, that he wasn’t gay; said something about the Bro Code, a Devil’s Three-way, and his friend Ted, though, and the Master could see the man’s conflicted response. He shrugged it off, ordered himself a few drinks (first, he’d tried the Doctor’s favoured banana daiquiri, and on asserting he didn’t like that he’d gone for a safer bourbon), and settled into a table of his own near the door, keeping the booth that Barney sat in, in clear view. Either the blond would see the error of his ways, or the Master, very interested in him, would find some other way of fucking him. Another way, as it happened, came along very quickly, as the Master studying his human quarry and he put his plan into place immediately.

Barney’s technique of picking up girls was clearly either going to go spectacularly well, or fail miserably. The Master watched in disbelief as the man claimed to be the King of Norway, that he had invented the calculator, and that he had travelled from the future to make sure his past self found love before ‘the event’. The lines worked with varied success, but after talking to every girl, Barney found himself wiping a smug expression onto his face and joining his friends again.

The Master, on the other hand, only had to subtly suggest to every attractive woman (and the odd man) that walked through the door that they really wanted to talk to him, and watched with a grin on his face as Barney’s jaw dropped further and further to the ground at the sight of women falling over the Master’s lap by the dozen. What amazed him even more, as the Master listened telepathically to his thoughts, was that each person who went over left hair mussed, dazed, and unfazed by how many other people had gone before them. The Master didn’t leave until he watched the blond drop a coaster to his lap and leave it there, then make his own excuses to go. He had pounced him in the street, hands deftly finding the erection the man was trying so hard to hide in the blink of an eye.

“Barney Stinson.”

“How did you get all those - ?”

“Oh, I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun…!”

\---

“Master!”

“I love it when you say my name!”

At first, the air had been awkward; Barney had sat on his sofa, with a pillow over his burning erection, trying to fathom exactly how this Englishman, who called himself Harold Saxon, could get so many girls without even trying. There was a blush of red lipstick on the collar of the man’s shirt, from one of the girl’s, and the tail of his shirt was tucked out of his impeccable suit where Barney remembered a redhead’s hands had been. Not only that, but the man pulled off a suit almost as well as Barney did, if not better, and seemed to clearly respect the attire. If only Ted would suit up more often… Barney pushed the thought out of his mind, watching the man study his apartment with a smirk on his face, knowing full well how aroused Barney was and milking the situation for all it was worth. It had taken him a full ten minutes to lead Barney into his own bedroom, seeming to know exactly where to go, and the next Barney knew he was spread out on the bed, stripped, the roles reversed, his burning erection brushing his stomach. So much for topping; so much for being very much straight. The gang were never going to hear about this.


End file.
